Human
by Delicate as China
Summary: Emotions were weak and human, yet in that forest they flourished. [My entry for LWD's Tell Me a Story Contest.]


The girl… the one he doesn't know the name of… the one with matted black hair and dirt clinging to her tanned and calloused skin… the girl with bruises, cuts, who walks with a limp, and says not a peep… the girl that brings him water and food even though he harshly tells her not to… the human girl he lets get close.

He hates humans; he hates them with a passion that scorches the brittle remains of his hearts. They are disgusting creatures, pointless creatures. He has seen only one purpose that drives their lives forward, to breed. They are such basic creatures, no reason for their existence. There is no guilt involved in cutting one down; another five will crop up in the dead one's place. They are not rare, they are not strong, they are not valuable. They are ridden with emotions, they wear their hearts on their sleeves and toil away at the seductive concept of the fantasy creature known as love.

Humans were so… human.

Words could not really describe them. A thousand characters, ten thousand, even a hundred thousand, and still one never came close to describing the idiocies of the human species. They were stupidly simple, yet infuriatingly complex. So, he just hated them and that was that.

He was also a complex creature. A lord without a fortress, with a toad for a follower, and no real land to rule over. He was stoic, he was greedy, power-hungry to be specific, hateful, cruel, proud to the point of arrogance, and solemn. He had an annoying follower in the form of a toad demon, an enemy named Naraku, a half-brother whom he hated yet always managed to help, and now a human girl trying to play nursemaid. He was paralyzed from grave injuries that his own half-brother managed to make with the sword he coveted. It was laughable, and not very terrifying or threatening as his name implied. Sesshōmaru, killing perfection, destruction of life.

The only lives he was destroying right now were the lives of little ants he was sitting on, squashing with his butt if one wanted to be so crude.

Still, as human-hating as he was, and how laughable he thought the idea of a little human trying to play the role of his nursemaid; every inch the sun devoured on its path beyond the horizon, he grew more worried for the girls well-being. Somehow, she was making him care.

. . . . .

The was a slight breeze chilling the air. The clearing he rested in was a dark blue, nearly black color. The sun had descended fully hours ago, the birds had stopped chirping, and the crickets had started their performance for the evening. His eyes were closed, he did not sleep though. He had rested enough, and anyhow, he did not trust sleep right now with a human village so close. Shamefully, he'd admit that in his state, he could not take on a mob of humans, let alone know that a mob was approaching.

His senses had been dulled by the Wind Scar attack. He was starting to get them back. He could pick up the little girls scent whenever she was approaching, though not until she was much closer than he was comfortable with.

She was approaching now. The girl had just slipped into the area that his scent picked up, and she was slowly making her way to him. He could smell fresh blood, and charred fish. The scents combined with her own, dirt and rain with an underlying bit of mold, made for a scent that left him confused in whether it excited his instincts for battle, or comforted him like a cave might. So, he pushed thoughts like that out of his mind and focused on the approach of the girl.

He heard the crack of twig, and another, the heavy clomp of body parts being slowly moved as if they were heavy, weighty breathing that signaled agonizing pain, and the pounding of a frightened heart. She must've been beaten, he decided, and she must've run to him.

She poked her dirty head out from the trees, looking to see if he was there. His eyes met hers; gold against brown. Her lip was swollen, cut, and turning black. He could see that a streak of blood from her forehead to the left side of her face gleaming in the poor light. Sesshōmaru assumed that the blood was still sticky, though he didn't really care. She limped, favoring her right leg. If he could guess, someone had kicked her hip. Her hair was in disarray and her clothing was covered in mud stains.

Obviously she was more injured than he was, in worse condition than he was, and in more need of help than he ever would be. He didn't get why she came to him though, offering him food that would just grow cold and be eventually eaten by some wild critter, and water that she would pour out the next time she came back.

She knelt beside him and held out her offerings, looking down at the ground as if she was scared of him. He thought about asking her if she was scared that he was like her fellow villagers, but knew she had no answer for him. He turned his head away, looked towards the stars and ignored her.

She stayed until dawn.

. . . . .

Three days passed before she came again. She looked more healed, but her limp was worse and he could smell things that made him want to gag. If he hadn't pitied her before, now would've been the time he started. She was such a pitiable creature, he had to admit.

She had cleaned off the blood, and her lip looked a lot better. She was still dirty, but there wasn't as much mud and blood on her yukata.

She didn't kneel this time like she had the last time. She slowly lowered herself into a sitting position, and offered him the food and water until noon before she left them within reach. He felt like telling her not to go, knowing what awaited her, but he couldn't the find the words. It was kind of… embarrassing.

. . . . .

She returned the next day at dusk. She was panting, heaving, as she burst into the clearing. Tears clung to her cheeks as she ran to him, throwing herself down beside him and burying her face against her chest. She brought no offerings with her this time. Obviously her visit was not one of her nursemaid visits. She was there because she was scared, because the men had put tried to place their greasy, worn hands on her young flesh again and she had fled to where she felt safe.

Humorous, he thought. A human takes a comfort in him, Sesshōmaru.

. . . . .

After the night she ran from the village men, she was beaten even worse. She'd been caught stealing the fish from the village, and the same village men she'd run to him to get away from that night had been the ones to dole out a very cruel punishment.

When she came to him the next day, her right eye was swollen shut and she was bruised all over. She was limping then as well, but she came anyway. He'd been quite taken aback by her state. He'd always thought of humans as creatures that put themselves before anyone else, and quickly abandoned any duty if it caused them the slight discomfort. Still, she'd come faithfully, bruised, limping, worse than ever, and disproving yet another one of his conceptions about humans and adding more mystery to her species.

He'd asked her questions about how she got to be in that state, though he got no answer. That was when he'd confirmed for himself that she was mute.

But another thing had transpired then. Something beyond different. Something that changed everything.

She smiled at him, so large and wide and full of happiness… love.

After that, as much as he hated, and as much as he would not say it aloud, he realized that he cared about the girl. In his mind, he'd begun to admit that he cared, though only slightly, and that what happened to her was his concern.

. . . . .

The night she'd come to him and took comfort in him so greatly had been a different turning point. He'd decided then that he would not leave her here. He would take her with him. She was not safe here, not cared for nor wanted.

She'd fallen asleep at his side, clutching tightly to the water container she'd left with him the day before. She'd cried into him long into the night, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do, so he just let her. If it could ease her pain, he'd decided, he'd let it happen. What those men had done was unforgivable. He would not push her away after all the pain they'd caused her. And, she would not return if he had any say.

The birds had started to chirp though, and the sun had risen past the horizon. He could tell she was stirring, the way her eyes scrunched together tightly to block out the light and the way the edges of her mouth quirked downward ever so slightly in displeasure told him so.

After a few more moments passed, she opened her eyes and looked around. A moment more passed and she realized where she was. Yet another moment passed and the memories poured back into her mind. Her eyes filled with fear, and a soft whimper fled her partially opened mouth. Terror permeated the air, filling his senses and putting his instincts on alert.

"It's alr…" suddenly he realized what he was doing; comforting her with words. Bile rose in his throat that she was softening him like this, but he bit it back. "You'll be fine."

She smiled at him and the cracks in his heart grew.

. . . . .

Even though he'd done everything within his ability to stop her, even grabbed her dainty little wrist to make her stop, she'd returned to the village. It… stung. It hurt to see her walk away. Emotions, they were such tricky things, best left to humans.

And when she came to him, eye swollen shut, he selfishly thought she got what she deserved. Then he forced that though from his mind. No, she hadn't deserved such a cruel beating. At least the men had not touched her in the other manner again. She returned to the village again after this one as well.

. . . . .

Knowing that he was better, he stood and gathered himself. The composure he always had, the stoic pride that he bore to the world, returned as he walked out of the clearing, away from the human girl. He would probably never see her again. She walked away from him, he let her go, this was the end of whatever it was that had formed between them. Love, unconditional, nothing romantic. It was an emotion, a bond, something he'd always despised and spat upon. Yet she nurtured it in him.

Jaken stood at his feet, groveling as he did best. Sesshōmaru did not care. He walked away, forcing the nagging thoughts of the human child from his mind.

And then he smelled blood… her blood… and wolves. Lots of wolves, demon wolves.

The rest was a blur. He went to her, found her corpse. His heart shriveled even further as he saw her brown lifeless eyes staring at the soil she seemed to love. Blood covered her. At least the wolves hadn't started to feast on her corpse. If he'd been a moment later, they would've.

He realized he could do nothing for her and began to turn away. Something annoying sounding came from beneath him but Sesshōmaru tuned it out.

Then suddenly the worthless blade at his side pulsed to life, thrummed in its casing. His eye narrowed ever so slightly, but he followed the orders the sword seemed to demand, cut down the minions of the underworld and held the girl in his arms as she stirred to life miraculously.

Love… unconditionally… not romantic. It had formed, festered in his being, been carved into him in that forest. It was emotion, weakness.

It was _human_.


End file.
